


Bequeath

by CReed



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Incest, M/M, Multi, Oh Maker did I just really write this, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 12:50:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CReed/pseuds/CReed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Walking in on his brother and Fenris leads Carver into a night of passion and exploration. Is sex and pleasure the only motive for Hawke?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bequeath

**Author's Note:**

> M!Hawke/Fenris/Carver fill for the Dragon Age Kink Meme. Can't recall the original prompt link, just that it was these three with Carver walking in on his brother and Fenris and then being invited to join them.
> 
> AN: I think it's balls that Bioware didn't somehow create a random generator that decides which sibling is killed instead making it set in which class Hawke is. It's lame that only a mage gets to keep their brother. Lame. So, in the spirit of AU, I am going all-out. This is my rogue!Hawke as well. Oh, and in case you want to know, this particular Hawke of mine looks almost exactly like the default Carver. It's crazy what playing around with the preset heads can create... :)

He thought they were over. Oddly enough that was the only thing going through his head. Not a feeling of loss – he never had him to begin with, if he was completely honest with himself. No anger at finding them in such a scandalous position. He wasn't even sad, which surprised him. Carver, if he ever dwelt on this possible situation, would have assumed his heart would shatter if he found the object of his affection, _his warrior_ , in the arms of another man.

Not just any man, in point of fact, but his brother.

Everyone knew of their history. It had been while he was away, like so many other important events in his life. Some scuffle that involved slavers and people from Fenris' past. Apparently after all the circling, wordplay and sometimes snapping at one another, Sjoren and Fenris fell into bed after that fateful run-in. Carver may have been busy as a then recruit, but he did have off-duty time. He had plied Varric with drinks for information but the sodding dwarf was tight-lipped about the whole thing. All he knew, what everyone knew, was that it was a one-time event. They were still close, comrades, brothers-in-arms, but the intimate side of their relationship was in the past.

However, he was seeing clear evidence that, that was not the case. At all.

His skin felt hot, prickling at the back of his neck and along his arms. Sjoren, with his fine silk shirt hanging on his broad shoulders and trousers opened, lay atop a gasping and writhing Fenris. In nothing but his leggings, which were bunched down to his thighs, the elf was kissing his brother like a lover. There was care to his movements, knowledge to his touches, that only one familiar with another could accomplish.

Had he completely misread their connection the last year and a half? With the growing tension and chaos these last years he thought Fenris was the one who understood most. Yes, horrible things could occur within the Gallows Circle but that didn't mean the system was obsolete. Bethany – sweet, beautiful girl – was a special case. His father had taught him, Sjoren as well, to be her protector and watcher. Only after he had taken his vows did he realize he had always been a Templar. In his own way, he had guided his twin, knowing if she fell he would save her. His decision to join the Order caused an even wider rift between him and his brother, but he felt he made the right choice.

The only one who really encouraged him was Fenris. Fenris, who was there when Aveline denied him a place in the guard time and time again, knew what he faced while his brother left for the Deep Roads. 

He was so over that, no matter what Sjoren's cronies thought. 

Before the expedition left, Fenris with it, he had slipped a pouch into Carver's hand. It turned out to be a sovereign and some coppers – something to help feed his mother while Sjoren was gone for who knew how long.

The day he found his mother crying over yet another sum Gamlen lost gambling, counting over the last of the money she hid from him, was the day he stopped begging Aveline for a job and applied to the only other legit occupation in the city. Mother had not been happy at first but within a week he was sending silver and sovereigns, groceries delivered right to her – and a few little things to cheer her up. For the first time in his life he didn't have to scrounge for scraps, sell bits and baubles to push the amount in his purse over from copper to silver. And for the first time in his life he felt, should Sjoren finally kill himself on some fool mission, he would be dependable enough. He would be enough.

Sjoren came back after Mother had nearly lost hope, overjoyed with his return. Riches and power, deservedly earned—he would never argue the hell they must have gone through to get back. The Amell estate was once again home for their mother, for Sjoren. His weekly stipend didn't matter anymore. Now he saved with a splurge here and there. Sometimes he went to the old haunts but now suddenly was merely tolerated by those he once took jobs with. He didn't think Sjoren actually started it, but among his brother's friends he was as much a pariah to them as Merrill was to the Dalish. He started drinking alone.

And then Fenris.

One night he found himself invited to his dilapidated manor to drink and relax, talk among friends. There he became acquainted with Sebastian, another man seen as an outsider to his brother's clique. Sure he could come off as pious and pompous, but if one listened to him, one got the impression that he really believed. Living as a Templar, he knew what a rare thing that was. He still couldn't stomach listening to him all day, but he wasn't that bad. Beth would have adored him.

Drinking turned into drinking and talking, and then drinking, talking and cards. Sometimes members of the city guard made their way to Fenris' as well. In the years he stayed on, the elf had made some interesting friends.

Sometimes it was just he and Fenris. Those were the nights he cherished most. They would talk or not. Silence wasn't awkward with them. Recently there would be some light flirting, fleeting touches that left Carver frustrated and energized. He hadn't felt like that since his skirt-chasing days in Ferelden. He had thought any day now perhaps he would get a kiss or two, perhaps an invitation into the beautiful elf's bed. Now he didn't know anything, trust anything he felt these last months. A moan broke him out of his thoughts and he tensed as two sets of eyes focused on him.

Sjoren rose from his position between Fenris' thighs and approached. There was rustling from behind him and Carver glanced over to see Fenris slide his leggings the rest of the way off. Green eyes turned once more to him and a teasing smile played at his lips. Warm fingers found their way into his belt and his attention snapped to Sjoren who was suddenly pressing close.

“Evening, brother. I was hoping you'd be down this way.”

“Oh?” Carver wanted to curse. He never did have a way with words like his sibling.

Sjoren laughed and leaned closer as if sharing a secret. “I asked around the Gallows a few days ago to see when you had time off.” His grip tightened on his belt and he stepped backward, taking Carver along with him.

He steered him until they reached the side of the bed and Sjoren turned him so if he stepped back, to get away, his legs would hit the mattress. Carver's jaw clenched and he knew he was glaring at the flushed face before him but he couldn't stop. “Why? Checking up on me?”

Sjoren laughed again. “No, nothing like that.” His hands came forward to drift up his sides, smoothing over the material stretched across his chest. Cunning fingers began pulling at the laces. “It's just been so insane around this city. I don't know, it made me miss my baby brother. I had to catch you where I knew you'd go on your off-duty hours.”

Remembering what he walked in on had Carver swallowing a growing lump in his throat. His eyes began to sting and he shook his head. He was still such a fucking child. Settling his eyes over Sjoren's shoulder he asked, pain thickening his voice to his dismay, “Why him? You could have anyone. Why did it have to be him?”

Carver jumped, he couldn't help it, as heat pressed up against his back and unbelievably strong but thin arms wrapped around his waist and chest. Calloused hands swept up and down his exposed flesh. It was soothing and he leaned back into the body behind him. Breath caressed his neck and ear. He groaned, biting back a curse when he saw Sjoren smiling.

“It is not what you think, Carver,” Fenris growled against his ear. “Your brother stopped by with a proposition and a few stories that left me quite intrigued.”

“Stories?” Realization dawned on him and his eyes shot to Sjoren's. He couldn't possibly mean what he had a feeling he meant.

“What do you say, brother? For old time's sake?” Sjoren stepped close once more, hand dropping to the buckle of Carver's belt. Sjoren's skills weren't only found in thieving. In a matter of seconds the belt was open and his trousers were loose on his hips.

Carver hissed as Fenris slid his hands inside his trousers, resting teasing fingertips on his hips. A moan crawled out of his throat and his head fell against what had to be Fenris' shoulder as lips latched onto his neck and one hand drifted up to paw at his chest.

“Is it true that the Brothers Hawke have shared women?”

“And a few men. Definitely elves. Carver has a thing for the fair, forest folk.”

There was a smile in Sjoren's voice and Carver saw it grow wider when he opened his eyes a sliver to glare at him. Anything he might have said turned into a gasp as he was pulled back and down. The mattress hit his bottom and he couldn't stop trembling. His tremors grew worse as Sjoren knelt before him, easing his trousers off and away with his boots. When his shirt joined the pile of his clothes there was no denying that there was a naked elf behind him. The lips exploring his neck stilled and a hand came to his chin, urging him to turn. He couldn't meet his eyes.

Fenris whispered his name against his lips before kissing him. The touch was warm and silky, tender as their mouths merely pressed together. Was there ever another time he kissed someone so fine? Carver could not recall. He turned, hands coming up to cradle the sides of Fenris' face, when he realized he finally made it to the warrior's bed. How long had he wanted this? How long had he yearned to be noticed by the gorgeous swordsman? A wine-stained tongue slipped into his mouth and he became as rarely compliant as ever. Another set of lips moved from the middle of his back to his shoulder. Warm hands slid over him to settle on his biceps.

At this moment he wasn't sure who was touching him but he couldn't help either way at flexing the large muscles beneath the soft touch. Fenris moaned in appreciation and pressed closer while Sjoren laughed against his ear, the grip on his arm tightening to feel the hardness. Carver cried out as arms wrapped around him and pulled him away from Fenris' sweet lips to press fully against Sjoren. Before he could protest or think of getting away, Sjoren began kissing and nibbling his neck. The asshole knew how sensitive that part of his body was and wasted no time in finding all the spots that left him writhing and begging.

“Have you ever seen a finer sight, Fenris?” As Sjoren spoke he splayed one hand against Carver's chest while the other slid down his side and hip to rest on his thigh.

Carver focused his attention on Fenris who ran an assessing look over him. Even naked the elf was intimidating. All of that smooth olive skin and coltish physique was there for him to examine but he dared not let his eyes wander from the serious green gaze. An appreciative hum rumbled out of him, causing Carver's cock to twitch. It pulsed further as Fenris noticed and smiled.

“That depends. Are you referring to the infamous Brothers Hawke doing naughty things to one another before me or,” Fenris settled between Carver's legs but did not touch him, “the fact that there is finally a handsome mage hunter in my bed, right where he belongs?”

Carver hissed, trembling yet unable to stop Sjoren as his brother's grip on his thigh tightened. He knew what was happening, as it did now and then in their more young and wild days, but never when he was sober. Never with someone who mattered so much to him as Fenris did. The only thing that kept him from jumping from the bed and running all the way to the Gallows was the knowledge that Fenris had obviously been with men before. And if the sight of Sjoren's naked ass didn't put him off sex for life than this wasn't going to scare him away either.

Carver couldn't help blushing as Sjoren lifted his leg, pulling it up and to the side to give Fenris an unobstructed view. Without thinking, he threw his other leg over Sjoren's. His brother rewarded him with a kiss to his flushed face.

“Aside from me, of course, you will find no other better,” Sjoren said as his free hand drifted down and played with the muscles of his navel. “He's not nearly as slow as he makes himself out to be. Steady job. Must have a small fortune now as I haven't seen him at the Rose nor at Anders' for a whore's tonic in quite a while.”

Carver cried out, throwing his head back against Sjoren's shoulder as his brother chose that moment to stick one mysteriously slicked finger inside him. He didn't grace him with any kind of a pause as the finger began pumping in and out. It had been a long time since anything like this went on at his back door. Time made him sensitive. Soon his whimpers and hisses of pain were turning into moans and curses. As he started to ride the intrusion and snake his hand behind him to give Sjoren's cock a rough squeeze, more of his brother's words filtered in through the pleasurable haze in his mind.

“—Looks like me so of course he has that going for him. Great skin, but not one of those dandies you see wandering High Town. Oh, and girls back home used to go batshit over his cock. Well, if they weren't begging for mine...”

Carver finally understood what was being said and his eyes shot open. He turned, crying out as he sank further onto the invading digit but managed to land his elbow into Sjoren's stomach. “Andraste's flaming tits, Ren! What the fuck, am I on auction or something?”

Sjoren winced but continued moving his finger and when he crooked it and found that special spot in all men he smirked as Carver sagged once more against him. “That's not a bad idea. I wonder how much I could get...”

“Nothing,” Fenris broke in, “seeing as you are selling something that is yours no longer.”

Sjoren pouted, humor glittering his storm-blue eyes. “You won't even be willing to loan him out?”

“Never.”

A smile, cunning and secretive, spread over Sjoren's full lips. “Good. That's good to know.” His finger slipped free and he gripped Carver's thighs once more to lift and spread. “Touch him, Fenris. Come claim your prize.”

Before Carver could question, Fenris was once more kissing him. He pulled him closer, letting him deepen the kiss as he wanted. A cry broke out of him as two fingers shoved inside him. Fenris pulled back, fingers working gentler and a frown marring his handsome face. “This place is not as used as I thought. I have hurt you, forgive me.”

Carver grit his teeth but grabbed onto Fenris to keep him from leaving. “It's fine. Just been awhile.”

Fenris cupped his cheek with his free hand, thumb playing across his swollen bottom lip. “How do usually take men to bed?”

Carver groaned and a blush spread from forehead to sternum. It didn't help that he could feel Sjoren rubbing his cock between the cleft of his ass. Fenris leaned in to run kisses along his neck and to his chest, licking and biting as his hands played. Finally some sense came to him and he grabbed Fenris by the shoulders. He could not help giving those lips one last kiss before he pushed him back a bit.

“It doesn't matter. I'll do whatever you want, Fenris. However you want me, I'll do it.”

“Careful, brother,” Sjoren chuckled against his ear.

The warning was unheard. Fenris trapped him in his hypnotic gaze, a haunting green. The warrior crouched, shoulders low and taught, as he leaned in. A soft growl emanated from his throat as he pressed his face against Carver's neck. He went still, trembling as a mouth opened and lay at his throat. Only the slightest pressure but his pulse jumped. If ever he was vulnerable in his life this was the moment. All the while, fingers stretched and pushed with firm thrusts that sent his hips into a familiar, bucking rhythm.

“You give yourself completely to me?”

Carver nodded, pressing his neck further against the mouth at his jugular. “Yes.” For so long he had belonged to him.

“So many times I wanted to ask you to stay. To be with me. I thought I only imagined your interest.”

Carver's eyes opened, having closed under the enthralling attentions of the elf, shocked and searching Fenris' face for any hint of jest. Laughter huffed against his ear but when Sjoren spoke his voice was strained.

“You both are truly terrible at this. Just take him already, Fenris. You burn and pine for him; he's absolutely moony over you.” He rolled his hips and Carver moaned as the feeling of his solid weight behind him combined with Fenris massaging his loosening hole sent shivers up and down his spine, making his thighs quiver in anticipation. “Let's get to the fun part already.”

“You are not rushing me through this, Hawke.” Fenris didn't bother looking at him nor breaking his touch from Carver. His fingers found his prostate and when he cried out he kept them at the spot, firmly massaging the sensitive nerves.

Carver became lost in the feeling. Lips nipped and sucked at his neck and shoulders. A hand wrapped strong, battle-hardened fingers around his dick. He reached up to pull Sjoren closer by the neck. His brother huffed in appreciation, grinding behind him harder. Suddenly arms and legs gripped him and he cried out as the fingers stretching him pulled free while he turned over. On impulse his arms shot out to keep from crushing the body beneath him. Looking past sweaty hair clinging to his forehead he settled his gaze on Sjoren who was now caged within his arms. His older brother was a big man but not as big as he. Sjoren was always built more like a dancer, of all things, while he was the ox – the family battering ram as Beth used to cheerfully say as he knocked over or held up whatever she needed at the time.

Sjoren's eyes, a darker shade than his own sky blue, were blown so wide they seemed black. A flush was upon his cheeks and Carver felt a wicked sense of pride knowing he was partly responsible for ruffling the perfect, near-unshakeable Champion. To have The Sjoren Hawke beneath him, gyrating his hips like the finest whore, killed any rational thoughts Carver may have possessed. Balancing on one hand he reached down and yanked one of Sjoren's legs up to his hip. A pleased and challenging glint came to Sjoren's eyes and as he lifted his groin up to meet Carver's, his hands slapped down onto his ass. The action pressed him closer and Carver snarled as he felt his dick nudge a loose and wet opening. When Sjoren's hands pressed further, pulling his cheeks wide, Carver thrust into him.

Sjoren arched up beneath him as far he could, clenching hard around him. A silent curse rasped out of him as tears gathered at the corners of his eyes. “Fuck...” He adjusted quicker than Carver expected and he used that to his advantage, shoving his thick cock further and deeper until his balls pressed heavy against his ass. Sjoren cried out but his hips moved with each jerking motion, cock straining once more against his abdomen. “You're like a damned qunari.” The smirk on his lips made Carver tense. “Mother and Father really did find you under a rock.”

Sjoren cried out again as Carver grabbed his hands and shoved them hard above his head. The action stretched him while causing Carver to impale him further. Strong thighs twitched as they lifted to squeeze Carver's ribs. Hands gripped his, pushing and pulling but not quite breaking free of his hold. Even in this they fought. Two alphas snapping and circling, never willingly giving the other complete control. How it must have drove Beth mad to almost always be in the middle of the power struggle! Gathering his strength as if in battle, Carver curled around him with a pause before giving a powerful thrust. They both moaned and Carver began a hard and slow rhythm.

The more Sjoren hollered and struggled the harsher his movements became. Carver liked to think that on some base level he knew his brother's limits. Since there was still a hard cock slip-sliding between them he didn't feel the need to take it easy on him. If it was the other way around he knew Sjoren wouldn't either. His movements faltered as a hand drifted down the sweaty expanse of his spine. Crackles of something ethereal wafted onto his hot skin. The seductive hum of lyrium seemed to brush all of his senses. A glow beyond his vision reminded him of who was behind him and he groaned, taking his frustration out on Sjoren who only writhed about and encouraged the rough treatment.

Hands grabbed his hips as a weight settled over him. And then he was mounted. A noise that would have shamed him any other time ripped from his throat. Once he had heard a mabari bitch make the same sound as a hound visited her kennel. He blushed as he realized his noises only grew louder and he pushed further into Fenris' hold. A pulse of lyrium rushed over him, causing he and Fenris to groan. Sjoren just smiled, enjoying the pressure and view.

“Fenris.” Carver's head fell forward and he moaned as teeth settled against the back of his neck. If they could just stay like this... “I'll give you anything,” he choked out before he could stop himself.

Fenris laughed, breath hitching against his ear before lips touched the lobe. His thrusts were fast and sharp, jabbing the sensitive nerves within again and again until Carver collapsed. Sjoren, always one to seize opportunities, broke free of Carver's hold to wrap his arms around him. Between Sjoren and Fenris he was pulled back and forth, used to satisfy each man's lust. Sjoren's hips jerked faster, voice rising on every curse, until finally he cried out and fell back onto the mattress. Warmth spread between them and Carver could only pant as the muscles around him and the cock within him brought him to the edge.

Carver was yanked backward, he and Sjoren groaning as he slipped from his tight hold. He found himself balancing on Fenris' lap as the elf sat back on his haunches. Long fingers gripped his chin and turned his head.

“There is nothing to give, Carver.” Fenris' free hand found his dribbling cock and began stroking it hard with each pound of his hips. “You are already mine.”

Soft lips slammed against his, swallowing up his cry. Carver could only sink back and down. Fenris was taking everything and he was perfectly fine with that. Then he was cresting along the intense and jagged peak of his orgasm. Wave after wave hit him, splashing out of him onto a serene Sjoren. The last he would remember were the lips molding onto his for one last, achingly gentle kiss before he closed his eyes and gave in to the blissful exhaustion pulling him down.

* * * * *

Where were his pants? Sjoren looked around, frowning as he tried to remember. He kicked Carver's trousers out of his way as he knelt beside the bed. Ah! With a smile he grabbed the balled up fabric hiding beneath Fenris' rickety bed. It was a miracle the furniture was still standing. With a smirk he stood to pull his clothes on, noticing the lumpy mattress was askew on the frame. It was always an earth-shattering moment when the Brothers Hawke shared a bed and a lover. He turned, jumping a bit to ease the tight-fitting material over his backside. A grumbling sound of protest made him smile and he turned back to the bed as he slipped his shirt on.

“It is always a sad sight when you cover such a nice body, no matter the clothing.”

Sjoren laughed, not fiddling with his laces just yet as he searched for his boots. “Just remember, you can look but can touch no longer.” He smiled at his one-time lover as Fenris sat up, flimsy sheet not doing anything for modesty.

The elf snorted, running a hand through sex-mussed hair. “You are one to talk. I thought you and your abomination were everything but married.”

“In everything but the eyes of the chantry,” he said as he tucked his shirt in and reached for his belt. “I told you, my dear friend, this was nothing more than a just-in-case goodbye.” A thoughtful frown curved his plump lips. “And a bequeathal, if you will.”

“Do you mean it?”

The somber question made Sjoren turn his attention from his daggers to Fenris. He was not looking at him but at his brother, sleeping peacefully on his stomach with the sheet tangled low around his hips. Silent and gentle his hand moved, fingers grazing a damp black curl to move from Carver's face. Without waking, Carver mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like a certain elf's name and moved closer, throwing his arm around his waist. With a sigh against his ribs he was once more in a deep sleep. At first Fenris tensed, a look of panic on his face, but then it melted into something Sjoren was all too familiar with and he buried his hand in the thick hair at the back of the Templar's head. It was a sight that damn near made Sjoren cry but he didn't look away. He wanted this moment burned into his memory for any dark day that was sure to come.

Fenris finally looked to him. “Do you mean it? You would give him to me? Truly?”

“There is no one better. No one I trust more.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I have a knack for reading people. You know this.” His face lost all traces of humor. “Will you abandon him?”

“Never.”

“Even if he finds another lover,” a low growl filled the room and Sjoren's eyes widened when he realized it came from Fenris, “or you should tire of him, I know you will always have his back, as you have mine. However, I don't think you will tire of him. He's not me.” A sad smile before Sjoren could mask it.

“Hawke, I... Before, when we–”

Sjoren held up his hand. “It's alright, Fenris. I know I'm not the easiest person to be with. I'm selfish and reckless. Often I only do things if it benefits me. Hardly do I invest myself if there is more effort than necessary. I wasn't what you needed and I don't blame you for anything.”

“That will not happen again.” Fenris' voice was stern, a determination in his eyes that he usually had during a fight. “I was...ill-prepared the last time. I did not realize what it was I was feeling. This time...” He carded his hand through Carver's hair again before looking to Sjoren. “I cannot walk away from him.”

“I know, which is why I'm giving him to you.” Sjoren sat on Fenris' side of the bed, caressing his face. “I give you my greatest treasure, Fenris. If what I think is going to happen, happens I need to be sure he is taken care of. Someone he trusts. Someone who has his back.” Sjoren laughed and whispered against his ear, “Someone he absolutely adores and would die for.” He almost outright guffawed at the look on Fenris' face. He couldn't help leaning in to kiss his blushing cheek. “Don't play coy, elf. You know he loves you. And I know that you are completely smitten with my large Templar brother so we can all stop pretending and pussy-footing around.”

“Stop that,” he hissed. “If you wake him, Hawke...”

“Oh, he won't be waking for a bit. I slipped him a little something so he would have a nice, peaceful rest.” Fenris relaxed, still not removing his hand from the light massaging of Carver's scalp. “After which you can show him how much you return his feelings with a nice long tumble before he has to report for duty.”

“You are an evil, horrible man.” Fenris watched as Sjoren leaned over to trace a finger along his brother's jaw. A wistful sadness filled his gaze for a moment before it vanished with a blink. “You do not know what will come, Hawke. You are not leaving any time soon.”

“I might be.” Sjoren turned once more to him. “You've seen the growing tempers in action. It's getting worse. Anders is more distraught by the day. Something is coming, soon. You feel it too, I know you do.” When Fenris said nothing, a stubborn set to his jaw, he took his calloused hand. “I won't fail to be ready like last time. And I won't drag him into this. Fenris, someday soon he may very well be the last of the Hawke line. He'll need you.”

“He has me.” It is hushed, as if the admission caused him pain. Knowing Fenris it probably did. “He will always have me.”

Sjoren leaned in to press his forehead against Fenris'. A kiss to his brow and then one last time on his lips before Sjoren stood and made his way from the dilapidated mansion.


End file.
